Germany

It’s a cold and grey German afternoon. Both, the thought of seeing my family and friends again soon and the seat heater give off heat. The lonely highway is covered with a thin, white layer. Like someone intended to roll out the red carpet, but the annual Christmas stress let that person reach for the wrong color. It’s just another 30 minutes to my home. The song, the radio channel decides to play in this particular moment, could not have phrased it any more suitable. “I’m driving home for Christmas”.

…Ohh I can’t wait to see those faces…

Alright, alright.. Since this is my last post for now, I don’t wanna leave you with such a terrible catchy tune. Dear reader, stop humming right now, I’ll give you a much better earworm.

…And though I’m nobody’s poet, I thought it wasn’t half bad…

The living- and at the same time bedroom gets lit up by a lonesome candle. It’s the first Sunday in Advent. A huge glass front that separates me from the attached balcony, offers a scenic view, although the darkness tries desperately to hide it. I can still make out the outlines of a mountain summit. Matterhorn.

...Yes I like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain…

Slow, repetitive dancing steps, which appear to look quite professional in my own little word. Movements, that make the time stand still for 4 minutes. Squandered dopamine. No, utilized dopamine.

...I’m not much into health food, I am into champagne…

Champagne, in Zermatt…a slight grin. ‘A bottle of champagne would cost more money, than I spent during the last 3 months in total’, I reckon and lead a with mulled wine filled mug towards my lips, kiss it profoundly and enjoy the view. I do enjoy the moment. I enjoy these last days of my second journey’s stage.

When I arrived at Corinas apartment in Zermatt a few days earlier, I rang the bell, waited for the door to open and as soon as it did, I witnessed something I did not expect at all. I am not talking about the 23 years old Austrian girl, who tied her curly hair back in a familiar motion as I do, but all these cardboard moving boxes. Her lean, almost slender physique, made her travel stories even more impressive. Corina rode a motorbike through India, Nepal and Vietnam and uses the current winter season for saving some more trip money in Zermatt by working as a waitress. Surrounded by bald walls and blank furniture, we gathered some first impressions while we were sitting on her ‘former’ king size bed. The ‘handjob dude’ story is still able to make people laugh. “It’s time, we gotta go”, she says, grabs the first carton and starts moving out, with me as her personal moving allowance.

Entering her new apartment for the first time made me shake my head. Such a stunning balcony view, tourists would spend a shit load of money on it. At least that’s what I expect after spotting a 600 Euro scarf in one of the clothing stores. We decide to have a tiny housewarming party, or at least an inauguration beer. Do you know these conversations, that make you fully forget about the time?“Fuck, it’s 7 AM”. It was time to sleep.

A fiercely flaring chimney fire. Not a real one, but one of these modern ‘screen-fires’ plus heater. I spread my laptop stuff on an old fashioned, hazelnut-brown colored table and get served with the most expensive coffee I have ever ordered. The price for spending 7 hours in a Wifi area in Zermatt, the price for working on my blog. While I was writing a couchsurfing reference for Kathy, a young, blond girl, sitting on the adjoining table, suddenly started talking to me.

Life has its ups and downs. If this is a truism indeed, I must have been climbing a massive mountain recently. Not a Matterhorn, more like a Kilimanjaro. The last few weeks, even months, could merely be described by using superlatives. “Excuse me, I just saw you using couchsurfing. I have an apartment nearby, I could host you if you want.”, says Greta from Estonia, while throwing a warm smile at my face. The innocent spark in her eyes convinces me of this being a generous offer, rather than a straight way of getting me laid. I’ll never find out.

“I wish you a merry first week of Advent”, a young schoolchild greets me, while I walk by, searching for the hiking trail. The weather turned from grey and cloudy to blue and sunny. 2 beautiful days I mostly spent hiking around the Matterhorn area. Something hasn’t changed compared to Scandinavia. I am still the only idiot, who stomps through the snow wearing cord trousers and cowboy boots.

… I am into champagne…

are the words, the Pina Colada song is slowly fading out with. I bid goodbye, do a half twist and bow down before the imaginary audience. A silent applause. An hour later Corina comes back from her late shift in a sports bar. Again it’s gonna take until early morning before we end up in bed. 2 days later I’ll get up around the same time, prepare myself for an exhausting day by cooking a Gordon Ramsay scrambled egg and leave Corina in the direction of Zurich.

I leave Zermatt with 2 polished toenails, she got a brief ‘boost of creativity’. Since I owe you an ‘ugly heart‘ anyways, I take the opportunity and demonstrate both works of art. And well…the avocado...I’m gonna tell you about it at some point down the line.

It will take me 2 lifts to reach Zurich. 2 lorry drivers. Beat, the Swiss form of Bert, tortures me with Swiss brass music and a Swiss-German dialect, I could not have understood any less. The second truck driver is a bearded, young, tattooed guy – these are the worst – called Kai. He leaves the music to a radio channel. “California….California….here we cooooome”. We both wallow in Mischa Barton memories.

Once again, I stay with Philipp. Another 3 nights in Zurich. Withing these last days, I ended up buying a new smartphone, got invited to a wine tasting and lost several billiard matches. I leave Philipp’s apartment on Saturday morning. Quite early by my standards.The last day of this second stage. I got invited to Kaiserslautern, the city I once studied in. I got invited to a Christmas Headis Tournament, a sport I once actively played. Headis, that’s similar to table tennis but with a bigger ball and you play it with your head instead of bats. 500 kilometers. A realistic, even though optimistic distance. I hope, I haven’t reached the summit yet.

5 Lifts later, I find myself standing on a petrol station near Mannheim. It’s just 100 kilometers separating me and the tournament. A skinny, tall girl gets off a panel van and tries to fight fatigue by some stretching exercises and a coke. As a bearded, tattooed hitch hiker, wearing ripped off trousers, asking people for lifts in the dark, I would estimate the chances of a very pretty single girl saying ‘yes‘ to be rather low. “Of course”, says the 23 years old Laura, who’s currently studying social work in Trier, but considers becoming a wakeboard teacher at some point. In South America. She takes a 30 minutes detour and brings me right to the sports hall. I leave Laura with a grateful hug and the slight feeling of an upcoming reunion at a later time. Calling it now! Through the kindness of her and 5 other people, I arrived right on time for the semi finals. A successful surprise.

Since I left home again about 3 months ago, this time towards Scandinavia, I hitched almost exactly 11.000 kilometers. That’s even more than I hitched on my journey’s first stage. This second stage pushed my body to its limits. A stage, I met incredible people on and witnessed breathtaking natural wonders. A stage, clarifying once again that I made the right decision a couple of months ago.

Within the next few days I’m gonna do some research and I will be back with a final conclusion in addition to my upcoming travel plans. If all works out it’s gonna be something like this:

In January, I’m gonna hitch hike from South Africa to Egypt.

Until then, a piece of cardboard, marked with Köln (Cologne), decorates one of my room’s walls and reminds me of these last 3 months. A sign, I used in September, when I first started hitch hiking North. A sign, I frequently slept on. A sing, that accompanied me for 11.000 kilometers. A sign which makes clear, obstacles only exist when you take your eyes off your goals.

…I’m the love that you’ve looked for, come with me and escape..if you like Pina Coladas…

The last week in Leipzig presented me with a tough challenge. I had to recognize, that some of my travel acquaintances meant more to me than I would admit. A tiny spark fed by optimism is easily capable of starting a fire, which again culminates in a feeling, you should refrain from while traveling. Desire.

While I was standing at the highway entrance in Leipzig on Monday morning, I dropped one of my bracelets. A bracelet, reminding me of a mistake I once did. Let go. It’s hard to find the perfect moment for giving up on something or someone. A ‘perfect’ moment might not even exist. I chose Leipzig for letting go, I chose Leipzig to turn over a new leaf. A new chapter, starting on a highway petrol station in Czech, starting in a soggy tent.

Leipzig means a reunion with 2 old mates. 2 Martins. According to my phone directory it’s ‘Martin Thailand‘ and ‘Martin New Zealand’. That’s me trying desperately to keep track of my traveling friends. I met both of them while couchsurfing. We had the same hosts. I planned to stay for 3 days but ended up lingering in Leipzig for even more than a week. So far the longest stay on this trip. Not because of the city itself, but rather due to some amazing people I got to know or met again.

A brief glimpse at the guest list. +1, ticked off. High ceilings make the apartment appear tremendous. Ceilings similar to the ones I saw in Georgia. I reckon heating these huge rooms in winter is less of a problem over here in Germany.Superficial, profound and imbecile conversations balance each other. “Yes, it indeed is cold at the North Cape”, “Ouh yes, giving all gods the same name sounds like a genius approach”, “Is there some alcohol left?”. I’m sitting on a warm, wooden floor. I’m sitting in a position that reminds me of meditating in Myanmar. Loyd, a tall, English man with curly, long hair enters the stage. Tonight, stage means a living area lighted by an enormous amount of candles, stuck into old alcohol bottles. Faded tattoos on his arms remind of his past in a rock band. Nowadays he tours alone, playing the guitar and a banjo in turns, while using his powerful, craggy voice to sing about long forgotten women, hope and fortune. A ripped banjo string towards the end of the concert buys me enough time to grab a smoke in the kitchen. A pleasant, warm, almost Christmassy feeling on my chest. The first mulled wine for this winter.

A meeting point, that could not have been more striking. The front of an old cathedral built in a modern university. This, in comparison with my old university, makes me grin. Martin, who I hitch hiked with around New Zealand 2 years ago, shows me around the city center and the eastern parts of Leipzig. His appearance, characterized by a grey woman’s coat from a thrift shop and long, blonde locks, reminds me of a young piano virtuoso. The old, almost forgotten New Zealand stories still achieve to entertain us. A forgotten bandana, Martin once tamed his hair with. A bandana that inspired me so much, that I spent my remaining 7 months in Asia wearing one of these. A bandana, that rests on my commode back home by this time. Lying there, doing nothing all day, it is still capable of sparking nostalgia.

Hammers pounding on steel, occasional dangersignals and franticallyscreamingpeople cause a threatening setting. And old gas storage turned into a 360 degrees panorama tourist attraction. The painting on these curved walls creates an optical illusion of a three-dimensional view. A view on a long forgotten tragedy. The Titanic.

An unlucky poker tournament, joints wandering from one player’s hand to the other’s, and cheap, Germanbeer make me waking up on a strange couch. The following Saturday takes me to a student’s house party. A party that makes me fall in love. In the course of this evening, I’ll get many compliments for my new partner and we’ll end up on a white couch in the shared living area. Together with Eric, one of Martin’s friends, we’re the last survivors. “Home, let me come home, home is wherever I’m with you” is playing. Memories…let go… I say goodbye to my diverting partner and put the shirt back in Arno’s wardrobe. It’s time to go home.

I met the other Martin about 2 years ago in Chiang Mai, Thailand. We were both staying with 2 wonderful girls in a remote hut surrounded by bamboo. We both stayed longer than initially planned. Now I extended my stay in Leipzig, how fitting. Our stay in Thailand not only got me in touch with card tricks for the first time, it also stills effects the amount of alcohol I have to drink while playing ‘Never have I ever’. A carefree time. A time we both miss. It’s hard to fight someone’s craving for travel, the craving for excitement, the craving for adrenaline. Fortunately, I haven’t fought that war yet. But sooner or later, I will have to. I’ll have to let go.

Let go. A feeling that makes sad at the first moment. Simultaneously, it made my backpack feel perceptibly lighter. Every human being has an impact on another. The certainty that I influenced some people in a positive way, helped or even changed their lives. A thought, that makes letting go slightly easier but still, it takes a while to turn grief into goodly memories. A period, in which people tend to break down. A period, in which my friends in Leipzig helped me a lot, without even knowing about it. You see, our lives aren’t that different after all. There is good days, and there is bad days.

You will have bad times, but they will always wake you up to the stuff you weren’t paying attention to.

It’s the little things in life. A friendly gesture, touching words or a smile. Many times it’s the little things that end up having an important meaning. An acquaintance, a random meeting, an unfamiliar sight. Sometimes, it might just even be a milk carton in Berlin.

My journey from Rostock to Berlin starts in a common way. It starts wit a goodbye. Martina drives me to a petrol station and leaves me with a warm hug. Her license plate ‘GG LOL 1337’ still conjures a smile on my face. Guess that makes both of us nerds. “Do you mind if I drive fast”, asks Johannes, a 45 years old architect who pulled over with his brand-new jaguar at the highway entrance. I share my stories about lifts in Eastern Europe, drinking beer and smoking weed while driving and I assure him, not being worried at all. He responds with an equally skeptic and shocked glance. I’m sure I could spot a slight motion of his crow’s-feet, which again I interpreted as brief smile.Johannes drives fast indeed. As result of a 250 km/h maximum speed, we reach Berlin in record time.

In sunny weather, me and Dan meet one last time in Berlin. We wanna seal our North cape trip with a ‘goodbye beer’. We look back on 6 crazy weeks, recap the funniest memories once again and we’re both, happy and sad. Happy because we’re not forced to hitch hike with minus degrees anymore and sad due to our upcoming goodbye. We part company at a train station, in the early morning, slightly drunk. Another hug, a tight hug,that would have probably led into more if our gender constellation was any different. I am happy, that we decided to hit the road together in Copenhagen. I am glad for sharing these last 6 weeks together with a friend.

My stay in Berlin brought me to Berlin-Mitte. One of my best school mates, David, moved apartments 2 weeks ago and his new one offers a balcony view over our capital, that could not have been any better. David works for our government, which allows him to give me a private tour in our Reichstag building on my 4th day. Until then, my morning ritual will be identical every single day. A capsule coffee combined with some in paper rolled tobacco and a view to Berlin’s skyline, that appears to be shrouded in fog, which gives it a slightly mysterious touch.

In order to fulfill my tourist duties, I spend my 3th day strolling around the city. I pass myriads of stately churches, modernly designed McDonald’s branches, all different kinds of Kebab shops, a tourist trap disguised as ‘Ritter Sport colorful chocolate world’, vegan restaurants whose painted and sprayed facades make them look like they just came out of a Tim Burton movie, and a wall. A wall that separated East and West Germany 28 years ago. A wall, that on the present day separates me from the tourists, who try to take artsy pictures on the decorated side of the wall. A wall, that appears to be tiny compared to the one I saw in Palestine. But who gives a fuck about walls in the middle east anyway.

My walk through Berlin made me finally admit, that I am not a city person. Some corners and areas were definitely able to enthuse me but in general, Berlin, despite all the hymns of praise, left a sobering impression. An impression I can’t blame on the city itself, but on my own individual interests. Still, David’s private tour through our parliament building surprises me in a positive way. An almost majestic seeming mix of modern and old architecture, spread their own specific charm. This combined with the subtle knowledge of important decisions been made on this ground, almost made the German Reichstag become my unexpected highlight of Berlin…if it hadn’t been for the milk carton…

My last night in Berlin. My last cigarette on David’s balcony. It’s Sunday morning when the sturdy apartment’s door snaps shut behind me and the lift brings me 25 floors earthwards. Another goodbye, definitely to many of these recently, but at least it’s only a temporary one this time. I leave Berlin with a satisfied feeling and the certainty, that I will never have to use ‘I’ve never been to Berlin’ ever again, while having conversations with, most likely Asian, travelling acquaintances.

It takes me 3 lifts in order to get to Leipzig. Lift #1, a young couple, that works in a refugee cafe and maltreats me with Berlin Underground Gangster Rap music, drops me off at a big petrol station on the highway. Lift #2, Barbara from Poland is actually driving 600 kilometers to Saarbrücken, my home city. ‘Is it time for another surprise?’ – ‘No, not this time‘. 3 weeks later and I would have definitely taken this lift, but for now, I let her drop me off at another gas station and wish her “Safe trip!”. Lift #3, George from Kenya would normally just pass Leipzig, but he offers to take a 40 minutes detour and bring me to my host’s place. Generosity, you usually get confronted with when Africanpeople pick you up. Generosity and interesting music. This time it is Nigerian Party/Raggae music that makes me smile. He drops me off at Martin’s apartment. An old friend I made 2 1/2 years ago in Thailand. It nearly makes me feel nostalgic.

The little things in life. A young child reminds me of my own childhood. It’s St. Martin’s day. A day, on which children walk through the streets carrying little homemade lanterns. I remember crafting some fancy ones at my Kindergarten. Snail shaped ones, ghosts or moon formed bodies made of cardboard. This child, I met in a deprived area, did not enjoy this luxury. A small, circular, with foil covered hole, a faint light shines through, plain painted sides and a shape, my former math teacher would have referred to as cuboid. An used, converted milk carton. The weak light inside the lantern makes the children’s shiny eyes appear even brighter. Fully unimpressed by other children’s masterpieces. Without a sign of jealousy she’s swinging her lantern in front of me while we are standing in the same train. Happy with what she has. A virtue, most people have forgotten about nowadays.

Happy with an old milk carton. A milk carton, that made at least one other person happy on that night.